A portion of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader has been hovering about my mind lately–the one about Eustace, a disagreeable, nasty young boy, going through the process of being turned back into a boy, after having been a dragon. If you haven’t read it yet, I’ll try not to spoil all of it for you (or maybe I have already, in which case I say, there’s so much more to the book, and for that matter, the series, that I haven’t spoiled it at all. So get a copy from the library or a friend or a bookstore and start reading it. Seriously. As soon as you finish reading this, or maybe before.)

Eustace tries in vain to scratch off his dragon-skin, but he finds that once he sheds it, he has yet another dragon skin underneath.  He tries again, and again, but to no avail. No matter how many times he tries to scratch it off and remove his dragon hide, he is unable to completely remove it himself.

“Then the lion said–but I don’t know if it spoke–’You will have to let me undress you.” I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now.  So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart.  And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.  The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know–if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place.  It hurts like billy-oh but is such fun to see it coming away….Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off–just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt–and there it was lying on the grass:  only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been.  And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been.”

And thus began a new sort of Eustace.  As Lewis writes, “It would be nice, and fairly nearly true, to say that “from that time forth Eustace was a different boy.”  To be strictly accurate, he began to be a different boy.  He had relapses.  There were still many days when he could be very tiresome.  But most of those I shall not notice.  The cure had begun.”

When God peels back our knobby, dragon-y skin, it hurts. Maybe worse than we have ever felt. A tear goes deep into our hearts. But it is then that the cure can begin. It is there where hope renews, where we feel like, now, the light has begun to shine in a dark place, and while things may not be all “fixed” and healed completely, the renewal process has begun.

But it only happens as we lie still and humble, waiting for his merciful claws, to dig down deep, and tear the dragon-ish thoughts and actions from our hearts, leaving us small, and soft, and ready to yield to his will.

The adult children came, from far and near, gathered together with our not-yet-adult children, laughing and playing games,  baking, and making snowflakes, and just generally enjoying that they enjoy each other.

There were card games and Settlers of Catan, beer-sampling and cookie decorating, movie-watching and movie-quoting.

A candlelight service, and gifts, and firelight.

And socks in the stockings.

And then there was a sweet little wedding, with more candles, and suspenders and vows and laughter, and a pastor who forgot to have us sit down at the right time.

But it was okay, because we just sat down anyway.

There were tears by both the bride and groom, and singing “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing”, and smiles and hugs and sparklers.

There was dancing and cupcakes and wine, a sweet father-daughter dance and a ridiculous, yet also sweet in its own way, mother-son dance.

Then the honeymooners left, the guests left, and the relatives left.

And then the granddaughter and her parents left.

And the house was quiet, once again.

The day was full of stuff like this:

Raspberry Dutch babies, made by  Sarah.

Birthday gifts wrapped in actual birthday wrapping, instead of Christmas wrapping paper.

Sparkly, gold toes, courtesy of an all-the-girls-go-and-get-pedicures-together outing.

The whole family, gathered together to eat at one of Lincoln’s gems, the Blue Orchid.

Yummy panang curry.  Mine was with beef.  Mmmmmmmm.

Delicious, homemade cheesecake, made by Bethany. Trick candles lit by Dad.

And, an additional photo that has nothing per se to do with the birthday, but I couldn’t resist putting it in here because it was so sweet: Uncle Matt and Addie, puzzling it up.

All in all, a pretty good day.

Happy birthday, youngest-most-beautiful daughter Anna.  Welcome to the twenties.

 Brennan Manning shares a story of Saint Francis and Brother Leo walking down the road. Francis has noticed that Brother Leo is depressed and Leo has admitted to being overwhelmed of the work of “ever arriving at purity of heart.” St. Francis responds:

“Leo, listen carefully to me.  Don’t be so preoccupied with the purity of your heart. Turn and look at Jesus. Admire him. Rejoice that he is what he is–your Brother, your Friend, your Lord and Savior. That, little brother, is what it means to be pure of heart. And once you’ve turned to Jesus, don’t turn back and look at yourself. Don’t wonder where you stand with him.

“The sadness of not being perfect, the discovery that you really are sinful, is a feeling much too human, even borders on idolatry. Focus your vision outside yourself on the beauty, graciousness and compassion of Jesus Christ. The pure of heart praise him from sunrise to sundown. Even when they feel broken, feeble, distracted, insecure and uncertain, they are able to release it into his peace. A heart like that is stripped and filled — stripped of self and filled with the fullness of God. It is enough that Jesus is Lord.”

After a long pause, Leo said, “Still, Francis, the Lord demands our effort and fidelity.”

“No doubt about that,” replied Francis. “But holiness is not a personal achievement. It’s an emptiness you discover in yourself. Instead of resenting it, you accept it and it becomes the free space where the Lord can create anew…Renounce everything that is heavy, even the weight of your sins. See only the compassion, the infinite patience, and the tender love of Christ. Jesus is Lord. That suffices. Your guilt and reproach disappear into the nothingness of non-attention. You are not longer aware of yourself. Like the sparrow aloft and free in the azure sky. Even the desire for holiness is transformed into a pure and simple desire for Jesus.”

(Shamelessly borrowed from a post from one of my new favorite bloggers, mama:monk.  Check our her beautiful Advent poem today.)

Okay, my Weather Channel app said it was 28F. So not all that warm.  But warm enough for a walk.

We headed out toward the pond, along the bike path.

And we encountered a little decorative fence that for some reason, Adeline was quite taken with.

She is also enjoying getting reacquainted with”Teo!” (Theo)

In other news, my name  (Grammie) has morphed from “mimi” to “dammie”.

No word on whether there’s an “n” in the middle of that.

….but after running a couple of early morning errands, it seemed prudent, nay, necessary, to make an apple puff pancake for Anna and myself.

A recipe from Margie Haack’s blog, which I have been wanting to try for a long time.

Mmmm.  Apple-y, cinnamon-y goodness.

And perfectly suited for sharing with a lovely daughter, home for the holidays.

And on another positive note:  it got the oven heated up and ready to go to its cleaning cycle.

Maybe Christmas dinner won’t be filling the house with smoke,  like last year, after all.

Me: Too true.

I know, it’s been nearly a month since the last one.  Sorry about that. But I’ve been sewing, sewing, sewing.

In addition to lying around and eating Christmas cookies.  Ah, the life of a mom whose kids are all nearly grown up.

I have completed 12 gifts so far, which also includes a couple of birthday presents. (Those darn December birthdays!)

Only about 14 to go .  Okay, some of those are the “if I have time” type of gifts, and hopefully won’t take long.

As I mentioned before, I want to get all of this done before my kids and grandkid arrive.  Next Saturday!  Yay!

It has been far too long since I’ve seen this sweet face:

 Photo by Bethany Hansen

Oh. my. word.  Such beauty.

Can’t wait to love on the sweet cheeks.

My nephews don’t read this blog (at least I’m pretty sure they don’t), so here’s what I made them.

I want to mention that it isn’t as easy to find male-appropriate flannel prints, but these fit the bill.  Deer and snowflakes, and guitars and stars.  Works for me.  And hopefully for them, as well.

(Did you know it takes a LOT of fabric to make pants for a kid who’s 6’5″??!)

And, well….that’s all I can show you.  For now.  Because my kids all read this, my in-laws drop in occasionally, and my mom goes for a long time, and then catches up all at once.  So it would be just my luck that she would read this before Christmas and see her gift.

I’d better get to sewing.  Those whatever-they-are aren’t going to make themselves.

Normal, in most senses. I did housework, went to my kid’s basketball game, ran errands.

At the same time I have been both heavy-hearted and transfixed by the goings-on in the Penn State child abuse tragedy.

Penn State was the upcoming opponent for my Nebraska Cornhuskers. But the focus was not on the game that would be played on Saturday, but on allegations and charges and Grand Jury reports and shock and sorrow.

And rightly so.

As I sifted through news reports and testimonies, blogs and articles, and listened to hours of talk radio on the subject, the one thought that kept coming back up, when I asked the question of why it happened, was that it seemed like a love of institution was greater than a love of people.

Why didn’t grown men step up and tell the authorities (not just their higher-ups at the said institution) about the heinous things they knew about?

Because they didn’t want to embarrass the university community (their employers/paycheck), by outing a well-respected former coach as a child molester?

That’s about the only reason I can come up with for so many adults turning their face the other way and ignoring the suffering of children.

Children.

Not only did it show a lack of love for the kids in the case, it also showed a lack of love for the former coach involved.

How many years did Coach Paterno work with Coach Sandusky?  Sandusky coached for 32 years there, and was a player for 4 years before that.
Joe Pa had known him, and worked closely with him, for decades.  Decades. And yet, he didn’t have enough love for him as a person to see to it that he didn’t continue in his destructive (both to himself and to others) ways?

In my opinion, Paterno’s love (perhaps idolization?) of Penn State, evidenced by his pouring out of his life into the university, trumped his love and compassion for his friend, and for all of the victims of his friend.

Paterno could have helped keep many young boys from being molested.  He could have also perhaps helped Sandusky get the help he needed to be rid of  his awful compulsion. Or, at least, get control of it,  and/or prevent him from exerting it on others and result in even more heartache and shame.He chose instead to do the least thing possible, and to continue with his building of his Penn State kingdom and his legacy.

Ironically, by trying to protect the institution he loved, he has managed to do damage that will be a long time in repairing.

As for his legacy?

Yes, he has done a multitude of things for Penn State.

But they may all be overshadowed by this thing he failed to do.

He failed to show love for the weak and needy.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.  (I Cor. 13: 1-3)

Or, in other words:  If I devote my life to the good of a football team, if I donate $4 million to build a library on campus for the betterment of the students, if I give my entire being to the task of trying to build a morally upright and successful university, but look the other way, and turn a deaf ear to the cries of those who are hurting and need my help and protection….then it all means nothing.

And I am nothing, as well.

It’s November, people!

But you probably already were aware of that.

What it means to me personally, is that I had better get started on my homemade Christmas gifts, if I intend to actually finish them, and am not willing to wrap up a badly drawn picture of what I intended to make, and just didn’t get done in time. Because that is lame with a capital L.

The thing about making Christmas gifts is that unless your intended gift-ee doesn’t read your blog, you can’t post what you made, until after the holidays. This means I probably will only be showing you items I make for my granddaughter, or for my nephews.

Bummer.

However, it will make for a great after-Christmas blog post.

And, I can show you all the cool fabrics that I am planning on using. This weekend had the perfect storm of “fabric  I want at Jo-Ann’s on a great sale” and “coupon for 25% off everything, including sale items”.

Hence the pile of stuff you see at the top of the page. (Yes, I went a little “pattern-crazy”; not a single solid in the bunch.)

There are 47 days left until Christmas; I’d prefer to get things done by the week before, if not sooner, since people will be arriving by then; so that gives me 40 days.

And I have probably 20-some items that I am wanting to make.

One every 2 days.  Doable, right?

RIGHT??:)

Let the games begin.